


In our time to come

by glass_insomniac



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel/Demon Relationship, Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), But only a little, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Endgame Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Eventual Smut, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, God Ships Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), I promise, I'm Bad At Tagging, Idiots in Love, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Slow Burn, Smut, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), The Bentley Ships It (Good Omens), Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2020-07-09 01:40:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19879489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glass_insomniac/pseuds/glass_insomniac
Summary: In which a certain angel and a certain demon find themselves with more free time and space than they know how to deal with after the almost apocalypse- and find that their relationship is most certainly not going to go back to the status-quo. Not that either seems to mind.AKA A very fluffy and selfish account of them being in love





	1. Bubbling up

**Author's Note:**

> I adore these two absolute morons with my whole heart!! I appreciate any feedback! :)

Cars were likely one of humanity’s simplest, but most ingenious inventions. Aziraphale had always been put off by the rugged jolting of carriages, the sickening bobbing of sea travel, and especially the rather offensive odor that horses carried around with them. This is why the angel was most inclined to the incredibly popular mode of travel. Well, actually, it wasn’t entirely why. But when had he ever let himself face the whole truth for as long as Aziraphale had lived on God’s green Earth? 

That argument and justification, in a constant battle of one-upping one another, grew and transformed into things that were positively beastly. It was the thrum of the Bentley that loosened the tension in Aziraphale’s shoulders, certainly not the comforting presence in the seat next to him. The subtle smell of leather that brought a touch of a smile to his lips, not the all-too-familiar cologne. And when he looked ahead at the darkened road stretching and bending into eternity ahead of himself, it was just that. Not a visual onslaught of the years to come blurring together and whipping past him before he had a chance to process what he’d seen. Faster they wrapped around him, and left him reeling, facing yet another and another and another. 

The angel had never been one for change.

So why did such an intimidating process as an unrelenting and entirely unprecedented future, not following anyone’s plan, make him feel so content?

He knew the answer, of course. Or at least, a part of him did. And it’d been shouting at Aziraphale for thousands of years. Well perhaps it was more of a whisper at the start- sparked by the uncertain, but undeniably soft, yellow eyes he saw a flash of on a lucky century. But with every shared dinner, secret, inside joke, and night of alcohol-tinged commiseration, it gained confidence. And boy, could that thing be loud. 

“You alright over there angel? You’ve been staring at the dashboard like you want to smite it.” Crowley asked in a teasing tone, peeking out from beneath his dark glasses (entirely unnecessary at night, but he committed to his aesthetic), and most certainly not paying attention to the road. Aziraphale stiffened up a bit and, in a skittish tone, replied.

“Of course! Absolutely tippity-top shape! Just, erm...ah you see…”, He floundered for an explanation for his behavior, to which he could give none truthfully without quite possibly setting himself aflame after. “Still reminiscing on how delightful that tarte tatin was! Just truly good craftsmanship, wish I had thanked the chef myself.” Aziraphale settled on saying. Crowley gave a snort.

“You say that at about every new place we go to- I swear, you’re too easy on them. Thousands of years of experience to sharpen your skills of refinement and taste, and you’d still gush over a fruit cake, I bet.” He said with a sportingly mocking tone. To this, Aziraphale sputtered indignantly,

“Well, if it were well-made of course, maybe I would! Not everything needs so much judgement, I just like to enjoy things, alright?!” Crowley burst into laughter, sharply taking their exit off the highway. His smile crinkled around his eyes, and soon Aziraphale was chuckling along with him, though not even entirely certain of why. 

Taking a few deep breaths as they sped down London, Crowley gave a sigh, and mumbled affectionately, 

“That’s just like you to say.”

Ages of bickering. Centuries of laughing. The rise and fall of great civilizations the ambience to the creation of their bond. Forged, cracked, reformed an innumerable amount of times. And unbeknownst to heaven and hell, to earth and humanity, and most of all to the dense pair themselves- it ran so much deeper than they imagined. The almost-apocalypse had grabbed the countless layers of denial and fear and ripped it away; there it lay in the air between them, raw and vulnerable like a wound. The comfortable familiarity of their dialogue, the world embroiled in change and on the edge of something supernaturally unprecedented, they sat in pleasant quiet. 

Peace. There it was. Everywhere around them, for the first time since they’d met in that garden. Now what were they to do with it?

Crowley took the long way to the bookshop, and Aziraphale made no mention or objection. The angel cast his eyes every so often to the driver’s side, unable to quell the feeling in his chest. And the demon stole glances, emboldened by the coverage of his glasses, towards his passenger. Something like acid, yet not unpleasant, sat in his stomach. 

Neither spoke, just gazed at the years that blurred ahead of them. In the peace, they felt contentment. And though neither could bare to form the words yet, so much more.


	2. Breaking the Surface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things got just a little awkward- guilt all around!

“Stupid. Stupid. STUPID.” Crowley muttered to himself, stalking around his stark apartment. The plants, just a room away, trembled at the fuming anger in his voice. Surprisingly, however, the tone was not intended for them. His hands carded through the fiery quiff, shaping it into almost comical volume. He walked with no purpose, only using it as a fruitless method to alleviate anxiety. 

What irked Crowley so early in the day, while he usually preferred to luxuriate in sleep, or simply just lounge, you ask? Well it involved alcohol. Lots of it. 

After reaching Aziraphale’s shop the night before, Crowley had been invited inside without words, and the two had consumed quite the number of fine vintages. With the fireplace’s warmth, the oddly amiable mood of the evening, not a hint of impending doom in the past week, and a significant buzz going, things had been said. Things that the two would rather swallow their tongues than say just a year before. 

No, not “I love you”, or any other momentous confession. At least, not in such words. Crowley leaned against the marble countertop, and recalled having complimented Aziraphale on his bravery for dealing with heaven for as long as he had. Bunch of dicks up there, really, and it turned his stomach at how they treated the sweet angel. But this omission led to more- how the angel was strong, unbearably kind, and so HIMSELF. 

The demon groaned, squeezing his eyes shut so tight he saw stars. Of course, Aziraphale had been confused. So adorably, frustratingly, confused. 

“Wha-what d’ya mean, so ME?” He had laughed, practically giggled. And to that, Crowley had replied,  
“Ya know! Like, erm, all frazzled and uptight and damned old-fashioned-”  
“Those don’ seem very good,” He had been interrupted.  
“No! Lemme finish, ‘kay? I mean all that, but just, so...so...charming and fucking endearing, alright! D’ya get me now?!” Crowley remembered tripping over his own words, partially from slurring, partially from the hot flash of embarrassment he felt. More than that, actually, but to put his emotions on such open display always left him uncomfortable and pissy, more than anything, overpowering anything else. 

Aziraphale had been quiet, and before he could form a response or even process the words, Crowley was up and excusing himself; weak justifications about alcohol and not meaning what he was saying already on his lips as he slipped on his coat. And even though he had heard the protests and pleas, and fucking apologies even, Crowley had left all the same. Stormed out drunk and upset at himself, he sped back to his flat if only to have a private place to pass out before he said anything else idiotic. 

Now in his kitchen, painfully sober, Crowley continued to swear at himself under his breath. Yes, what he said had been embarrassing, certainly. It didn’t exactly lend to his ‘cool guy’ perona to act like a teenager gushing over their crush. But what he was really kicking himself for was how he left. The confused expression, the slam of the door, and the undeniable aura of hurt Crowley had felt as he walked away. 

“You’ve really outdone yourself this time, haven’t ya?” He mused aloud, taking a sip from the mug of coffee he had summoned into his grasp. It burned going down, and wasn’t even the slightest bit sweet. He felt a knot of guilt in his stomach.

Gathering himself from the rather pitiful sight he had become, Crowley abandoned his wallowing for something a bit more productive; Making up for the shitshow that he had made of their evening. And though he didn’t know exactly where that would start, it was safe to say it certainly wouldn’t be here, in his barren flat. Therefore, reliable ol’ Bentley it was. 

…

Crowley hadn’t been alone in his self-pity this morning. Somewhere, not too far away, an angel was commiserating about the botched evening. And by somewhere, I meant in the back store room of Aziraphale’s shop. On the floor. Under a table.

It wasn’t like he had set about sitting down in the cramped, and honestly pathetic, position that he was in. But in his dreary mood, Aziraphale had clumsily knocked a stack of books over. Nothing incredibly rare or note-worthy, but all the same he had bent down and ended up hunched on the floor, sputtering apologies at the indignant third-editions. They may not be firsts, but they certainly had dignity- or at least, that’s what they said. 

Leaning his head against the wall, Aziraphale let out a sigh. It smelled musty, and everything felt gritty down there. He really needed to get back on sweeping. This aside, Aziraphale was focused on more pressing frustrations. Things had been going so well! Everything was comfortable, and not held back by the expectations and judgments of heaven and hell for once. And, per usual, it didn’t end smoothly.

“Why must I make everything so awkward?” He wondered to himself, not really expecting an answer, more so just stewing in his own discomfort. Crowley had been unusually open last night, and seeing him crack just a tiny bit had made Aziraphale ravenous to know more. The demon kept a solid mask on, sunglasses and all, so to see just a tiny bit of his feelings- not the snark, or the annoyance, or the arrogance, but genuine emotion- gave him hope. 

Aziraphale pulled his legs in tighter, and puzzled a bit more. Hope for what, exactly? That he meant as much to Crowley as Crowley did to him? That was part of it, certainly, and perhaps a very condescending thought at that. Who was he to assume his friend’s capabilities of feeling were stunted? But, to be fair, that is what most demons liked everyone else to think...

The angel gave a shake of his head, and replayed the conversation once again in his mind. Crowley had called him such lovely things, such kind compliments, and in return first he had pried, looking for more, and then when Aziraphale had actually gotten more elaboration, he had stared like an idiot. To be fair, Crowley had said surprising things, but his reaction must have made him feel so belittled, so unappreciated!

“Alright, that’s enough of this.” He declared, clearing his mind of the jumbled thoughts. He had been rude, so he’d do what all polite people (and even one angel and one demon too) did- he’d apologize. What that entailed, however, he did not know. So back to the drawing board it was. 

Lost in his thoughts, and several stacks of books, the door had been opened unnoticed. Certainly not by a costumer, given that Aziraphale generally tried to avoid those. The man with the swaying walk and the dark glasses himself had arrived, fresh off whatever errands he’d decided to run. 

Emboldened by time and armed with gifts, Crowley walked straight into the shop, and was promptly confused by the apparent lack of its owner. He wandered around the small front room, the living area, before hearing a muffled voice in a back room he’d never bother to go in before. And as he walked through this threshold, it didn’t take him long to spot the angel. And when he saw him, he couldn’t help but laugh. Aziraphale was sat under a desk surrounded by books, looking very deep in concentration. 

The unrestrained laughter tore Aziraphale from his thoughts, as he saw the unexpected guest, and he promptly scrambled to his feet. 

“What- in satan’s name- are you doing down there?” Crowley managed between interspersed laughter. Aziraphale straightened his jacket and looked indignant.

“I was picking up a book and got distracted, I’m not some comedy troupe to laugh at!” But his reproval was weak hearing such a genuine laugh from his friend, completely sober. 

Crowley brushed some dust out of Aziraphale’s soft hair, and gave him a fond smile, before stepping back and clearing his throat. Oh, that’s right- they both seemed to remember- we’ve made utter fools of ourselves. Now how to make it up to him?


	3. Calm the waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holding hands is an entirely underrated form of affection.

Had God herself conferred with all the greatest dark comedians throughout history, attended infinite improv classes, and been blessed directly by the muse of comedy, she still would not have been able to top the ironic situation that was Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship. Thousands of years of bonding and solidarity, millions of common interests, and the very fiber of their beings repelled on another.

It wasn’t like Crowley melted at the holy touch of his friend, nor vice versa did Aziraphale burst into hellfire when he took the other’s hand. But at times like this, it seemed like something down to their very DNA was working against them. The two stood, their laughter dying and the air becoming thicker, cloying, as they both internally panicked. And to any sensible person, there was no basis for this panic- not even a single solid reason for anyone to be genuinely upset in the first place!

But that was also assuming these two were sensible in the first place, which is, in fact, incorrect. 

“You not open now, or just scaring off the customers again? It’s really not a good way to run a business, you know, it’s practically just an excuse to be a packrat…” Crowley said, trying to sound suave and teasing, but coming across as ridiculously uncomfortable and stiff. 

“Ah, well actually if you looked at my hours for once, you’d see I’m closed! And I’ll have you know that packrats keep junk, whereas I! Well, I keep priceless first editions, and whatnot.” Aziraphale replied seemingly in explanation, though the previous question had quite clearly been rhetorical. 

And this is always how it had been with these two. They could be comfortable and fit perfectly together during any casual, superficial situation. Yet peel just a few layers back and they simply get too scared to keep going. Give them a new pair of glasses and a flaming sword, and they’ll fend off the apocalypse hand in hand.

But when the fire is reduced to ashes, and they see their hands are still entwined, what are they to do? 

That was the question that hung in the air, and made them trip over their words- second question everything they did and said. And in the short time since the end was avoided, this had become an unavoidable, omniscient struggle for the two. 

“Let’s step out, shall we? This room is terribly dingy.” Aziraphale proposed, after an uncertain quiet. 

“Probably a good idea.” 

The two moved to the living area, Crowley continuing to speak as Aziraphale locked up, and then settled into his favorite armchair.

“Oh, by the way, while I was out today I happen to see this little thingy, and well- just have a look,” A lie, he had looked for something fitting for several hours, but a demon certainly didn’t want someone else to figure that out. 

Aziraphale furrowed his brow, but crossed the room without objection. Crowley had been holding a small package- wrapped in sky-blue paper, and no more than four inches long. He took it uncertainly, but upon looking into his friend’s expectant (dare he even say, eager) eyes, Aziraphale gently unfolded the package before placing the paper on the side table. He gave a soft gasp, turning it over in his hands.

“It’s gorgeous, Crowley. Where did you find this??” Crowley shrugged, muttering about some knick knack shop he had wandered into by accident. And while that was a blatant lie, or at least a gross understatement of his effort, Aziraphale chose not to call him out on it. Instead, he examined what was being turned over in his hands- a bookmark. 

Knowing Crowley, it wasn’t something cheap or flimsy, either. It was a bronze feather, with detailing so fine and tiny that it took a magnifying glass to fully appreciate it. It was completely flat, and a pleasantly cool weight in Aziaphale’s hands. The tip of the feather was a brighter gold color, a bit more lustrous, and the angel chose presently to not ask if it was legitimately tipped with gold. 

“It really is lovely, but I didn’t think you were exactly big on reading?” Crowley, who previously had just been basking in the pure warmth of Aziraphale’s delight, snapped to meet eyes with him. Sometimes they truly surprised one another with how dense they could be. 

“It’s not FOR me, you dolt! It’s for you! You’re the one who’s obsessed with books, thought it was fitting and all that.” He snapped, crossing his arms in a rather childish manner, and being rather thankful his glasses were still on. And if Crowley’s hair weren’t so aggressively red, the tinge of pink on his cheeks and ears may have been noticeable. The demon would rather drink holy water than be caught blushing.

Aziraphale’s mouth opened and closed a few times, before breaking out into a practically blinding smile.

“My dear boy, that was entirely too thoughtful of you, I really don’t know what to say-” He cut himself off, grabbing one of Crowley’s hands in his spare one, and giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“Thank you so much, I’ll use it for my finest editions.” He promised in a soft voice. And he meant it from the bottom of his soul. Crowley’s mouth became very quickly dry, and he was unable to break eye contact with the angel. His angel, he thought, savoring the soft warmth of the contact. The usually noisy street was silent, and the annoyance, the fear, the discomfort, it all dissolved. It was only for a moment, but mercifully it seemed to last an eternity. It hurt to suppress it any longer, so Crowley allowed himself a tiny smile, and at the sight Aziraphale was certain that heaven needed to learn a thing or two about beauty. They both relaxed in a way they didn’t realize they so desperately had been needing to. 

Whatever had happened was not only forgiven (though neither had actually been mad at one another), but entirely forgotten. Yellow eyes met blue, and the whole world had been forgotten- it was just the two of them. 

Finally, Crowley cleared his throat quietly, and they reluctantly released hands. Aziraphale straightened up into a more business-like posture, but didn’t lose his smile. 

“I’m glad you like it, angel.” Crowley finally answered, surprised he was able to speak so casually, and Aziraphale hummed in agreement, gently placing the bookmark back in its wrapping, then onto his desk just a room away. Upon returning, he rubbed his hands together excitedly.

“I’ve just had the loveliest idea! It’s only fair I pay you back for such a thoughtful gift-” Aziraphale waved a hand to shush the protests over the word ‘thoughtful’ which interrupted him, “- and I was thinking we could go out! Not to a restaurant though, because that rather seems more for my sake than yours.” Crowley interrupted him in protests again.

“Hey, I enjoy going out for food! Not really for the food usually, but alcohol is a given, and certain things may tempt me from time to time. I’m not THAT much of a masochist to do things I don’t even like without reason. I do value my time, you know,” He said in a snarky tone, ever quick to preserve his dignity. Aziraphale just nodded in agreement, and continued without arguing the point any further.

“Yes, but I had something a little more specific in mind! Actually, I’ve been meaning to go, since it’s been quite some time, in fact. Oh, I really do hope you like it!” He prattled excitedly, eyes shining. 

Aziraphale was talking and moving about, grabbing his coat and retrieving keys and whatnot. The corners of his eyes were crinkled from his excited grin- all hands flailing and slightly old-fashioned colloquialisms. Crowley removed his sunglasses, slowly gathering his things and choosing not to argue about the unknown destination. Looking sideways at Aziraphale in action, he felt the corners of his mouth pull upwards for the second time that day. How exhausting. But how could he not, seeing his angel so happy?

And not that either would ever mention it aloud, but their hands seemed to always find their way to one another from then on. 


	4. Creeping Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stroll in the garden with your soulmate; can't get better than that.

The first difficulty came with Aziraphale’s stubborn streak; despite the fact that Crowley was, and always has been, the self-appointed driver between the two of them, his compatriot insisted on not disclosing the location until ‘he absolutely had to’. So the two set south on the highway, in stubborn silence. 

But knowing the couple, it didn’t last long. The huffiness broke way to teasing banter, a pattern that was comfortable and well-worn from time.

“You’ve GOT to be fucking with me. You, of all the people on this GODFORSAKEN planet, think pineapple belongs on pizza? I thought you considered your palate refined, for fucks sake!” Crowley practically yelled, having been thrown by the sudden drop of information. Aziraphale pulled on a forced expression of sophistication. 

“Experimentation is positively essential to the advancement of cuisine and taste. It’s something that those not well acquainted with flavor and culture will never understand. And watch your tongue!” Aziraphale asserted, using all his energy to not break his austere aura. Crowley stuck out a forked tongue in childish retort, brow set angrily, but with a creeping smile that ruined his pout. 

Suddenly, the passenger rubbed his hands together excitedly and announced, 

“Ok, time to go!” But before any questions could be asked, Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and they went from the highway to being stationary in a parking lot. 

Crowley spluttered incoherent curses, death grip on the wheel, before casting a burning glare towards Aziraphale.

“Wha-why in anyone’s name, did you do that?! You could’ve scratched my-or dented-what made you thi-” He was cut off by a hand on his shoulder, and a soft, but emphatic, 

“Everything is fine. Be calm, dear boy. I just didn’t want to ruin the surprise!” He finished with a sheepish, but no less radiant, smile. Crowley was struck dumb, and just nodded, shutting off the car and pocketing the keys. The two stepped out, and took in their surroundings. 

“Oh angel, you were right. It really has been a while since either of us have been here.” The demon commented, taking in the Palace of Versailles in all its grand and excessive beauty. It oozed wealth and history, but was made all the more entertaining by the history the two had in such places in France.

“Mm, but I have something more specific in mind. And not a jail cell, I promise. Shall we?” Aziraphale held out an arm. Crowley, half torn between wanting to mercilessly poke fun at the old-fashioned gesture, and his ever-present aching need to be near his angel, decided on splitting the difference. With an exaggerated eye roll and huff, he took the offer. 

Part of Crowley’s heart was so at peace. Another, however, was on fire. Crashing and burning, more accurately. Millions of thoughts, wishes, desires, and fears tore at one another and threatened to boil over. Questions of worthiness, if this shift between them was just a whim, or worse, if he was placing too much importance on the things happening like some naive human, and it all actually meant very little to Aziraphale. These picked at his happiness like vultures, and he felt raw. 

But looking at his dear friend, seeing the soft reminiscence take over his face and feeling the steady warmth of their arms, Crowley was able to steady himself. He leaned a tiny bit more into the other, seeking support, comfort, or any other number of things he couldn’t name. 

He would have to address this soon. Crowley knew that, deep down, and the possibility of shattering this peace that came with it. But not now. Not when the sun was so warm on his skin, and Aziraphale was so close. God, just please don’t let me ruin this yet. He thought over and over again, like a mantra. It faded into the back of his mind, as he resolved to just enjoy this day, all else be damned. They deserved at least that much. Didn’t they?

“Oh, it looks lovelier than ever! Don’t you think, Crowley?” Aziraphale exclaimed, pulling the demon from his moping. Finally paying mind to his surroundings, Crowley realized they had made their way out into the sprawling gardens, and it really was beautiful. No matter what time of year, there was always something in bloom, and now was no exception. Almost sinfully lush greenery lined the pathways, curving into arches and crisp geometric patterns. A perfect balance of flowers to hedging was struck, with just the right amount of colors peeking from the shrubbery. The midday sun left nothing unseen, and gave the whole scene a dizzying kind of clarity. 

“Yeah, you were certainly right. Better than a jail cell,” Crowley responded, somewhat lamely in comparison to all they were taking in. He was captured by the orderliness and perfection of the plants- certainly no spots to be found there. And they weren’t even trembling. 

Aziraphale made a satisfied sound, silently patting himself on the back. It wasn’t often he was able to surprise the serpent himself- especially not with anything as grand as this. How he had never thought of this before, he hadn’t the slightest clue. 

The two felt no need to rush, and meandered through the endless rows of the garden, taking in the scenery, as well as the pleasant peace surrounding it. At one point Crowley offered his hand to Aziraphale while on steps wet from the gardener’s most recent activity, making the most sarcastically chivalrous expression he could manage. Aziraphale took it, though entirely unnecessary, and chuckled at the other’s antics. Both entirely satisfied, as well as slightly flustered, they continued their walk hand in hand. 

To some, this may seem sudden. Hereditary enemies working against a common evil is one thing, but just enjoying each others company for no other reason? Preposterous. But by Aziraphale’s account of things, this was entirely overdue, and well justified. Though he had never bothered reading any deeper into that baseball/dating metaphor, he was fairly certain that, given their long history together, they had at the very least left the dugout. Smirking a bit to himself at his sudden wry humor, Aziraphale made a mental note to look a bit more into what the whole phrasing of it was. 

Though the autumn air didn’t yet have a bite to it, most visitors of the palace today still decided to eat inside of the local cafes and restaurants. This was much to the delight of the pair, who found several open fountains where they could remain undisturbed. 

Just as they turned the corner to the one Aziraphale had had in mind, a little girl ran smack into Crowley’s legs, before stumbling back and apologizing profusely in French. An older woman, presumably her mother, followed quickly behind to pull the girl back by her coat hood, joining in her apologies. 

“Not an issue at all, madam. The gardens can be understandably exciting,” Crowley spoke in competent french, his usual playful tone not leaving his voice- though not a hint of malice could be detected from it. The woman muttered something else to the child in reprimand as they walked around them and away, but Aziraphale, in his less than polished French, was unable to catch it. 

Crowley, however, heard her loud and clear, before she walked out of range. “Didn’t I tell you this was not a place for children to be rowdy? You could’ve ruined their date! Silly child…” He didn’t bother listening to anymore, but felt an odd dryness in his throat. Crowley felt hyper-aware of their linked hands, uncertain of every twitch of his fingers. He tried to swallow a few times as Aziraphale guided them to a good place to sit near the fountain. 

“Ah, I’ve got just the thing for this time of year! It’ll perk you up, I’m certain of it. Actually, I saw the idea for it a long time ago, but more recently also in…”He continued on, but Crowley couldn’t focus on his words. There was a creeping warmth in his face that he, as a demon, unfortunately could not blame on the wind. In contrast, his newly free hand felt cold and foreign as Aziraphale was using his to miracle a thermos. Crowley squeezed his fists hard, and pushed down everything bubbling up. 

“Try it, won’t you, Crowley dear?” 

Crowley snapped his head up to meet eyes with his angel, who was offering him a cup of steaming liquid from the thermos. Neither of them blinked, and the wind itself seemed to still. Aziraphale, noticing the very uncharacteristic blush on his demon’s face, stopped speaking as well. The tint seemed to soften his angular face, and in that moment Aziraphale would quite literally walk through hellfire to get those damned sunglasses off. Crowley looked hesitant and positively sheepish. But instead of tearing them off, Aziraphale used all his self restraint- but allowed himself a fond smile. After all, this day was meant to be enjoyed. 

At risk of blowing a gasket entirely from just how soft the moment felt, Crowley grabbed the cup being offered to him and downed the liquid. It was scalding.

“AH WHY- OW- FUCK-” He squawked, having thoroughly burned his mouth and throat. 

“Why did you do that??! Are you an animal?! Really, Crowley!” Aziraphale chastised as he frantically miracled cool water into the cup, practically shoving it into Crowley’s dramatically waving hands. 

Crowley took it gratefully, and it was gone in seconds. Pesky human bodies and their nerves- no real damage could be done, but it sure could shock the hell out of him. He took a few breaths, and Aziraphale asked with wide eyes, 

“Are you alright now? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to call you an animal, it’s just that was very… well, stupid of you.” He asserted bluntly. Crowley looked at him in surprise for a moment, and then howled in laughter, disturbing the quiet of the garden. After a moment, Aziraphale joined in as well, and the two were soon wheezing. Crowley leaned against his friend as the last of the chuckles died out. Aziraphale’s shoulder was soft, and it provided an easy way for him to hide his face. 

This is nice, Crowley decided. Whatever it was, neither of them could say just yet. But drinking in one another’s company with fervor, both knew that they could never go back to the carefully measured distanced they had kept from one another all those. Never again, both thought, shifting to lean a little more onto the other. And though the temperature had dropped by that point and the sun began to dip and redden, the two felt pleasantly warmer than they could ever remember being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this, I appreciate any feedback!


	5. Diligent Studies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale sets to understand that which baffles him.

“Tea? That sounds positively lovely, Anathema! Of course...Yes that works for me ...I'm sure he won’t have an issue, don’t worry about that, dear...Right, see you then!” 

Aziraphale hung up the outdated phone on his desk. It had been quite some weeks since he’d had contact with Anathema- or anyone from the whole Apocalypse shenanigan, really. Well, except for Crowley, of course. On the contrary, he actually couldn’t seem to get away from him. Not that Airaphale was trying, of course. 

Not one bit. 

“What did you just decide for us? You know if it doesn’t involve alcohol, then I’m not interested.” Crowley called from the floor above. True to form, he was lounging dramatically across a worn, but comfortable love-seat, bottle of wine sitting on the side table waiting to be opened. 

The two had settled into a comfortable rhythm- Aziraphale works in his bookshop a few days a week, Crowley goes out causing trouble here and there, and more afternoons than not, the two spend time with one another. This often includes going out to restaurants, plays, or even the occasional concert. But more than they ever had before, the pair were simply spending time together. This meant lazing about in amiable silence in the bookshop, sometimes talking, or reading, or just enjoying being. 

Aziraphale made his way up the narrow staircase, rolling his eyes in response to the dramatics from his demon, 

“It does not, but you’re still going. Anathema has been so kind as to invite us to a luncheon for tea and catching up, and we are going.” He said firmly, crossing his arms as he stood above Crowley and the couch he was practically draped over. 

Looking upwards at the angel, Crowley pouted. 

“How boring. You know I can’t bother with all that politeness and small-talk- in fact, there’s a room in hell just for that.” Aziraphale eyed him doubtfully, about to argue the point further, before a different idea came to mind. He suppressed a grin, casually moving around the couch and pushing Crowley’s gangly legs out of the way before sitting down, legs pressed together. He pulled a disappointed face of his own, tilting his head to the side and casting his dejected blue eyes towards his victim. 

“I just thought it would be nice to see them again, together…”. It was super effective, and Crowley sat up uncomfortably straight, running a hand through his hair with a petulant huff. 

“Well if you’re gonna get so worked up I guess I could swing by for a minute or two, as long as I don’t have to listen to even a single conversation about the weather-” The reluctant agreement was interrupted by Aziraphale brightening right up, grabbing one of Crowley’s hands and grinning. 

“Oh I knew you’d come around! This will be nice, they really are some of the more pleasant humans to be around, thank- erm, someone- for that.” He continued on about the details of the occasion, and Crowley listened with a small, absent-minded smile. The angel really was so warm, and being so close relaxed him, though Crowley hadn’t realized he was tense. It was like coming home to a lit fire, if a fire could have soft hands and a mesmerizing smile. To his disappointment, however, his hand was released and Aziraphale stood back up, putting unfortunate distance between them once again. With an apologetic tone, Aziraphale mentioned he had work to do, and just like that Crowley was on his way back to the flat. For just one more moment after sitting in the car, the demon allowed himself to smile, closing his eyes and feeling the lingering warmth. Then like he had for centuries, Crowley violently shoved the feeling down, driving back to his bitter flat. 

Meanwhile, Aziraphale was set to work in the backroom of his bookshop, but in no way that would help his business. Rather, he was doing the one thing that had helped him make sense of this confusing world around him- reading. Books entire eras apart, from vastly different cultures and authors surrounded him, but they all contained the oh-so-human theme of connection between two people. Not simply romantic love, but any form of connection that may be forged- enemies, lovers, friends, family- anything. 

Practically all of humanity’s collection of literature and knowledge on the subject before him, yet Aziraphale still sat absolutely baffled. Every story was too fleeting, set in time and drenched in human worries and values. While entirely understandable, it still frustrated Aziraphale. He leaned back in his chair, curly hair askew and jacket taken off long ago. 

How long had he and Crowley been ‘friends’, if that was even the right word? It didn’t feel right, yet it was the most overarching label in any language he knew. Aziraphale, though dense in his own right, knew he felt so much when they were near, when they spoke, laughed, and fought alongside one another. And he’d be damned if he couldn’t work out a way to comprehend their situation. Chuckling, Aziraphale flipped through the many bookmarked passages to one which gave him great amusement, 

'You and I, it’s as though we have been taught to kiss in heaven and sent down to earth together, to see if we know what we were taught.' -David Zhivage, by Boris Pasternak.

The sentence was completely ridiculous, given his firsthand experience with the direct whims of heaven, but it inevitably had struck a chord. Maybe he was giving it too much thought after all, Aziraphale considered, eyeing the increasingly unstable tower of text he had accumulated. After all that, he had only become certain of one thing; he never felt happier than when he was with Crowley. Hereditary enemies, situational allies, friends… the words did nothing to capture the scope of all they’d been through, everything they had shared. So for just this once, Aziraphale decided he wouldn’t find what he was searching for in words. Just this once, it might be wise to act rashly. The thought made Aziraphale giddy, nervous even He got up to make a cup of tea, and allowed himself one of the few indulgences he had routinely denied himself since that day in the garden so long ago.

As the water boiled, Aziraphale allowed himself to reminisce. Babelonia, Greece, France, the colonies, the wild west. Sharp looks, lazy grins, tumbling red hair, and the world’s worst disguised softie. Wild fashion and sarcastic retorts always covering a genuinely kind demeanor. With a snort, Aziraphale remembered pretending not to see Crowley miraculously avoid squirrels on the road that would otherwise have been flattened, so as not to hurt his pride. His chest ached, and he was reminded of why he didn’t do this often. Pouring the now-hot water over his tea bag, Aziraphale took a deep breath. It really was silly dancing around the issue like human children. It only made sense to discuss the topic with the other party involved, in order to resolve this whole shenanigan. Aziraphale cringed at the finality of the word ‘resolve’, but was now firmly behind the idea. The angel wasn’t usually one for decisiveness, so he knew that once a decision came so clearly to mind, there was simply nothing more to do than act on it. 

Sipping the cinnamon tea, Aziraphale steadied himself. This was long overdue, to say the least of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this has taken so long. I've written literally nothing but lab reports for the last month, so I hope this was as enjoyable to read as it was to write! Any and all feedback is appreciated :)


	6. All Cards on the Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is so done with the subtlety, and I don't think Crowley minds.

This wasn’t exactly how Crowley thought his morning would be going, so he was far from prepared when he heard a knock on his front door. No human knocked on the door, thanks to a little demon magic of his own, so that left only one option. However it still felt strange, seeing how the two spent the majority of their time at Aziraphale’s cozy bookshop. In contrast, Crowley felt his home was too harsh of an environment to ever invite his angel over simply on a whim. 

More pressingly, however, it was far too early to see any faces, angel or otherwise. It wasn’t even eleven in the morning, and Crowley had been greatly enjoying the sleep he didn’t need whatsoever, in a bed excessively large and plush. So one could imagine his consternation at polite, but insistent knocking drawing him into full consciousness. 

With just a snap of his fingers, he was dressed in his typical tight and dark ensemble, grumbling the whole way to the door. Only after peering through the peephole and confirming the unwarranted guest was indeed Aziraphale, did he open the door. 

“Why are-”

“Before you say anything, I do apologize if I interrupted your sleep, but this couldn’t wait a single hour longer. Actually, I couldn’t,” Aziraphale blurted out all at once. “Can I come in?”

Crowley nodded and stepped aside to let him in, taken aback by the intensity being displayed by his angel. Aziraphale kept his expression relaxed, but his eyes were lit with determination. He had been meticulously working out the phrasing of this all night since his decision to express these feelings to Crowley- waiting to even this late hour in the morning had been torturous. Not that he was wavering his decision, not at all. Rather, the longer he sat by himself in his bookshop the more he wanted to revise his words. Over and over again, until the point of it all becomes obscured entirely. Aziraphale shut the door behind himself, and straightened his bowtie as they continued into the living room, shaking off these thoughts and reminding himself that no matter how it was phrased, it would be better than pretending the situation didn’t exist for another few centuries. 

“Should I be getting ready to fight some heavenly twats?” Crowley asked jokingly, though not entirely without a trace of anxiety. Aziraphale huffed in amusement.

“No, nothing of that nature in the slightest. You honestly think I’d be this calm if Gabriel and others were on my tail?” The demon gave a shrug.

“What can I say, you’ve always been a weird one,” Crowley relaxed, now knowing there was no immediate danger, and dramatically flopped on the leather sofa with a yawn, “Then why the hell did you wake me up, angel?”

Aziraphale gave a fond smile at the familiar antics, and sat down on the other end with hands folded tightly in his lap. 

“I will never understand your fixation with sleep. Actually, there’s a lot of things about you I’ve never been able to puzzle out entirely. How can such tight clothes be preferable to wear to something even a tad looser? Why update your aesthetics so- pardon the pun- religiously, but maintain the same vintage car from the 1940’s? How-”

“That car is timeless I’ll have you know!” Crowley interrupted indignantly. Aziraphale patted one sprawled leg apologetically.

“I know dear boy, and this does have a point. Indulge me in this one monologue, would you?” Crowley pursed his lips, but ultimately nodded, leaning back comfortably to listen. 

“As I was saying; sometimes, you baffle me. And that’s only become more and more true since that day you saved me and those precious books from that church during WWII. I couldn’t think of a single reason that aligned with your demonic allegiances that would even potentially justify doing that- saving an angel, of all things! You wily, unpredictable serpent you.” Aziraphale chuckled, casting his gaze at the floor before continuing, 

“So when we went through the apocalypse together, and the possibility of existing after heaven won the war was brought up, I had never been more conflicted. It was ingrained in my very being to support any heavenly cause without questioning, but I would have to spend eternity without the comforts of Earth I’ve come to love. Without my books, lovely food, music, the humanity that’s become so endearing… but what hurt the most was thinking about existing for the rest of eternity without you,” Crowley jerked his head up, a deep ache in his chest as all the worst feelings brought by the apocalypse were once again stirred up. The other didn’t seem to notice, continuing on.

“And even though we’re safe now, and it’s over, I’ve never been able to fully shake off that thought. But you know what? I don’t feel like I need to anymore! For once, I don’t have to worry about what heaven will think because I’m not on their side anymore, I’m on our side!” Aziraphale’s voice wavered a bit, throat thick with emotion. He swallowed hard, determined to continue. 

“I know I can be a bit thick when it comes to these kind of things, but you are the one who has been there with me through the millennia. I’d fight heaven and hell with you a thousand times before I give up what we have here. Though the words seem to fall short compared to all we’ve been through, I just wanted to say that I love you, Crowley. And I have for a very long time, I think.” The conclusion was strong, confident even. Aziraphale patiently waited for his demon to process it all, who currently looked like he was thinking so hard he’d burst into hellfire. 

Moments passed, and Crowley felt like his brain was going to melt. Though he was unendingly grateful that the conversation hadn’t ended with Aziraphale saying something like he was leaving him, this certainly wasn’t one of the outcomes he had prepared for. Words escaped his usually sharp tongue, and he just stared desperately at his dearest friend. The bubble of unspoken silence had finally been popped, and the many, many years of waiting had done nothing to prepare Crowley for exactly what to say. With endless patience, Aziraphale rose to his feet. 

“I’m sorry to spring that on you, but I felt like it had to be said. You don’t need to say anything back if you don’t want to- I completely understand. I’ll give you some time to process this-”

Aziraphale was shortly interrupted as he was yanked back down to the couch by his jacket, Crowley’s mouth pressing against his own. This time, it was his turn to short-circuit. 

The kiss was tender, and uncertain. Crowley gradually released his hands from Aziraphale’s jacket, sliding one up to cup his face. The angel was so warm, and the two simply simply melted into the embrace thousands of years in the making. Somewhere, God was fistpumping, and the Bentley spontaneously played “We Are the Champions”. 

Minutes passed by, all reverent touching and drinking in each other’s closeness, before the two finally pulled back from one another. Though neither technically needed air, both were breathing heavily as they parted. The usually prim and put together Aziraphale was entirely disheveled, red splotches on his cheeks and curls looking wild. Crowley didn’t look much more composed himself, but the unkempt look was much more at home with his aesthetic.

Touching their foreheads together, Crowley gave a crooked grin, “You are not going anywhere angel, not after doing something I haven’t had the balls to do for ages.” Aziraphale chuckled, head a bit too woozy to come up with a witty response. He felt terribly salacious, but that did nothing to dull the need for more that was currently fogging over the higher processes of thought. 

Uncertainly, Aziraphale reached up and took the demon’s signature glasses off his face, placing them on the table. Earnest blue eyes met ones clearly inhumane, but achingly filled with love. The words and declarations may not come as quickly or easily to Crowley, but the feeling was all the same. 

It was the angel who leaned forward this time, crossing the gap and capturing Crowley’s lips with his own. This kiss held slightly less desperation, less need to communicate a message. 

It was soft, and yielding, until it gradually deepened. In a shift that didn’t occur consciously, Crowley was hovering above a reclining Aziraphale- though neither seemed to mind, or even notice. Hands pulled at fabric, knotted in hair. Never one to be outshone, Crowley slipped his tongue into the other’s mouth, eliciting a surprised but pleased humm. 

Aziraphale tightened his grip around Crowley’s slim waist, pulling him so their bodies were flush and separated by only a few, infuriating layers of fabric. The kiss became messier, more teeth and tongue, and barely restrained passion. The dulled friction drove them both nearly crazy, and the couch was no longer seeming to be the best place for this. 

About to move elsewhere, the two were interrupted by the shrill ring of Aziraphale’s text notification. 

Crowley stiffened and moved back in surprise, and Aziraphale released an annoyed groan. Hoisting his adorably disgruntled demon to the side, he checked his phone (seeing as Aziraphale had about three contacts, so texts were usually an important affair). He quietly cursed under his breath. Not one to swear usually, Crowley gave him a confused look. Aziraphale had a chagrined smile on his face, as he turned and said, 

“So dear, do you remember those tea plans we made with Anathema?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was awful mean of me, but I swear the saucy stuff is coming soon! If you like that, stay tuned ;)


	7. Unusual Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel, demon, witch, witch-hunter, the child of satan and his three friends meet together to get tea. There is no punchline.

Normally Aziraphale would be chastising Crowley for his surly behavior, but in this situation he was in complete agreement. Driving to Tadfield mere minutes after an emotional bombshell was bad enough, while the lingering physical discomfort from their *moment* did nothing to help . Disgruntled as they were, however, neither the angel nor the demon could keep a slight dopey smile off of their faces. Could you really blame them?

The drive was quiet, but not in any uncomfortable way. The two were enjoying the understanding that had finally settled between them. For years there was an underlying unease, each holding back from the other. And though they had changed from enemies to sole friends and confidants, it wasn’t until Aziraphale had come right out and been blunt about the love between them that the fragile distance finally shattered. This change was more than just a metaphorical one, however. Not long after starting the drive, Crowley had taken a hand off the wheel, hesitantly placing it on the console between them- offering. And with only minimal chastising about the danger of it, Aziraphale happily placed his own hand on top of his love’s. 

And it felt so very right.

As the highway transitioned to rural backroads, Aziraphale was suddenly struck with a sense of hesitation, and uncertainty. Not about his confession- that was actually likely one of the proudest moments of his very long life- but about coming here. Anathema, Newt, and the children were all lovely, but they hadn’t really interacted much following the almost-apocalypse. He and Anathema had kept in contact here and there, and Aziraphale had a sneaking suspicion that had been to make sure that the two of them wouldn’t pose any future threat. 

Much to his delight, however, their correspondences became less and less a matter of surveillance, and more a manner of book recommendations and genuine conversations about the occult. This brought a small smile to his face, but was also the source of his concern. He had actively avoided going in depth on his relationship with Crowley with Anathema. Not out of shame in the slightest, but rather out of sheer confusion. He had no concept of how to communicate what the two of them had with a human who wouldn’t live long enough to experience even a fraction of what they’d gone through. And as expected, confusion made Aziraphale anxious. 

“It’s going to be fine, Angel, I promise.” 

Aziraphale hadn’t even realized he was gripping Crowley’s hand a bit too tight until he was brought back to reality by his voice, soft but firm. He relaxed his shoulders and looked over with a quirked smile. 

“Thank you dear, I’m just being silly is all. I just don’t know how to explain… this.” Aziraphale explained. Crowley shrugged, squeezing the other’s hand affectionately. 

“We don’t have to explain anything. Either they’ll get it or they won’t, and I really don’t give a damn either way. And if they don’t like something, I’ll just persuade them to like it.” 

“Crowley, you serpent, you will do nothing of the like!” The angel exclaimed, swatting at his arm in mock outrage. Crowley bit a smile back, almost successfully. 

“Guess you’ll just have to smite me then.” The car was filled with fond laughter at the thought, and before they knew it the car was pulling into the driveway of Anathema’s cottage home. She’d made the surprising decision to stay in the temporary home following the recent events, sprucing up the exterior with tasteful, only slightly witchy, decorations. Though her supposed main reason behind staying was making sure everything continues smoothly in Tadfield, Aziraphale had a sneaking suspicion it was also influenced by the dopey ex-witch hunter who so adored her. 

The two exited the bentley, and made their way up the stone steps towards the front door. Adjusting and straightening himself uncomfortably, Aziraphale rapped on the door. The two heard muffled voices, silence for some time, and finally the door being opened to reveal and equally uncomfortable Newton Pulsifer. He pulled the door wide enough for them to enter, waving a hand to gesture them in, and only then remembering to get out of the way of the entrance himself, 

“Come in- uh, sirs…” Crowley and Aziraphale stepped inside, glancing at each other in mixed confusion and amusement. Newt led them down the short entryway into the kitchen, which could only be described as quaint. The table was laid with some tea and sandwiches, rather than the maps and spell books that had occupied it months before. Those had found a much safer home on the bookshelves scattered throughout the home. Anathema herself was putting down the last plate, turning with a guarded smile to greet her unusual guests.

“Aziraphale, Crowley, it’s good to see you both again. Thank you for coming out this way, I know it wasn’t the most convenient traveling from London.” Everyone took a seat at the table unprompted, and Aziraphale politely replied, 

“Oh it’s no bother, Crowley loves any excuse to drive anyways. And it is nice to come out here every once in a while, get out of all that hustle and bustle, you know!” Crowley gave him an annoyed sideways look, not wanting to be dragged into any conversation, as he was still sulking a bit at having to come. 

“Well that’s good. You’re welcome to tea and sandwiches and the like, I wasn’t really sure what you both liked…” Anathema chuckled, silently adding ‘or could eat at all’ in her head. Though she was a witch from an accomplished family of them, she was hardly more knowledgeable than the average religious human about accurate demon and angel customs. Though to be fair, the two sitting across from her were hardly standard models to learn from. 

After Crowley poured himself and Aziraphale some tea, Aziraphale piped up once again, 

“How are the children, Adam and his friends? They must’ve been rather shaken after all that.” This actually earned a laugh from Newt, who until then had been sitting in awkward silence, munching on a sandwich. 

“Oh believe me, they are doing much better than anyone could have predicted. They even made a game called ‘Overthrow Satan’ about a week after it all ended. Neighborhood was thrilled hearing them play that, shouting ‘satan’ this, ‘horsemen’ that and all!” All four of them were laughing at that, able to picture the red and disgruntled look their elderly conservative neighborhoods likely had on their faces when that happened. Crowley was especially amused by this, always ready to support some healthy devious fun. 

“Children really are a different breed. Little fuckers have twice the resiliency of any adult I’ve ever met.” He added, leaning back to lounge as much as he could in the stiff wooden dining chair. Aziraphale reprimanded, “Language, dear- honestly!”. To which he received a forked tongue sticking out with a little hiss. 

Taking a long sip of her tea, Anathema thought of how to politely phrase her next question. After all, she didn’t think it was in her best interest to offend two supernatural beings. Finally, she set her cup down and asked, 

“I know in our emails that you said heaven and hell would likely be backing off for a while because of your body switch charade, but I do have to ask- why did you two even help humankind in the first place? Don’t get me wrong, we were glad for the help, but as I’ve been thinking about it more, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. You weren’t exactly in an advantageous position.” Aziraphale took this all in, and wasn’t sure how to respond for a moment. How to sum up everything that made Earth more important to them than the whims of heaven and hell?

“An eternity under either heaven or hell’s rule would be horrendously boring. You can only visit the stars so many times in a millennia before you go batshit, get me? Humanity keeps things moving, changing- always surprising us and themselves. Believe me, this was worth fighting like an idiot for.” Ever the blunt one, Crowley beat him to the punch in answering, getting everything exactly right. Aziraphale nodded in agreement, adding, 

“We were liaisons sent to watch humanity since their creation down on earth. Since other angels and demons avoided the job like the plague, we were the only ones fortunate enough to experience this all firsthand and became rather attached, I suppose.” Crowley rolled his eyes, the expression still visible even with his heavily tinted glasses. 

“Thank fuck for that, I’d gladly have let this planet get blown to bits if someone like Hastur, or goddamn Michael, had decided they wanted to stay here too.” Rather than chastise him for language, Aziraphale simply shivered at the thought and nodded in agreement. 

Anathema had been thoughtfully nodding the whole time- expecting it to be something along those lines. Newt, however, was still struggling to grasp the concept of having tea with an angel and a demon. He ran his hand through his hair, blinking a bit too fast. 

“Cool, cool, that’s totally normal…” He muttered. Aziraphale tilted his head, eyes creasing in concern,

“Oh my, I think we may have broken your… partner. Boyfriend? Paramore? What’s the best word now?” Anathema patted Newt’s hand soothingly, answering with wry amusement,

“Boyfriend will do just fine. Also…nevermind, lost my train of thought.” She trailed off unconvincingly. Before further prying could be done, Anathema stood up and clasped her hands together with finality. “Well! The children should be stopping by anytime now, can I get you two anything else?” Her guests shook their heads, Aziraphale content with the tea and dainty sandwiches- Crowley perfectly fine with his tea, which he had miracled into whiskey at the start of the conversation. 

The three were only left in awkward silence for a minute or two, before knocking on the door signalled the next guests. The Them walked in boisterously, already smudged with dirt and grass from a day of play. All except Wensleydale, who was still impeccably clean. The four entered, greeting Newt and Anathema cheerfully. Only Adam confidently said hello to Aziraphale and Crowley, fully aware of their names given the circumstances. 

The children prattled about their most recent game, stumbling over each others’ words as they did so, giving sparing glances at the two unusual members to their tea gathering. Aziraphale tried to nod along encouragingly with his ‘customer service smile’ on, while Crowley simply miracled more ‘tea’. Neither really knew what was the best way to act in this type of situation, especially with these children who knew the truth about them. Finally, Pepper broke the awkward gap by asking, 

“What’s your deal? What exactly do angels and demons do? I didn’t think they went and got tea with people.” She finished in genuine confusion, scrunching her nose. Aziraphale gave a full, hearty laugh, surprising everyone in the room- Crowley included. 

“Apologies my child, but tea is one of my favorite things in the world. And we do a lot of what normal people do, I suppose. I run a bookshop, and Crowley- well, I don’t think he does all that much actually other than lounge and make mischief.” The demon’s mouth hung open in dramatic offense, quickly replying, 

“I do lots of things! Business dealings and such! And some bookshop you run angel, won’t even let a customer look at your books, let alone buy them.” He concluded with a huff, crossing his arms. Their company watched the exchange with mixed confusion and amusement. Brian absentmindedly mumbled around the sandwich in his mouth, 

“You two sound like my Mum and Dad.” The angel and demon sat stock still, a creeping blush on each of their faces as they struggled with something to respond with. Naturally, this amused the rest of the guests enormously, dissolving any remaining tension in the room- leaving only a pleasant, if a bit odd, reunion.

A bit later the kids left for their respective houses, and the final two guests were preparing to head out as well. Aziraphale and Anathema chatted a bit more, discussing plans to get together another time, and last-minute book recommendations. After miracling some of Newt’s tea into alcohol upon his hesitant request sometime earlier, Crowley and him were actually becoming quite chummy as well. 

The two finally headed out with a friendly ‘goodbye’, and a promise to come around another time. Glancing out the window, Anathema smirked at Crowley shooing curious neighbors away from the Bentley. And as she saw Aziraphale place a kiss on Crowley’s cheek before getting in the car, her smiled turned triumphant. 

“You owe me dinner babe, I was right! Never bet against a witch!” She called, hearing a defeated groan just a moment later. To be fair, he was the only one betting against her being right in this instance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes I am bad at updating! And if anyone was frustrated at the last chapter's ending, don't worry, the next chapter will be just for you ;)


	8. Feeling love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lazy day in the bookshop becomes perfectly indecent.

The two occult- or ethereal, as Aziraphale prefers to be called- beings had settled in quite easily to their new Arrangement. As if they had been made for it, some may think. Crowley still housed his accumulated luxury goods, artworks, and clothing at his flat, but the vast majority of his time was spent in the book shop and its attached living areas with his angel. While it was a factor that Aziraphale did technically have a business to run, and was a bit more of a homebody than his compatriot, Crowley also simply enjoyed being there rather than his flat. It felt lived in, more comfortable… loved, really. 

It was one of those increasingly frequent afternoons when the book shop had found itself closed early, and its owner had retreated to join his company on the level above. It had a tidy little kitchen tucked away in the corner, and that’s where Aziraphale was making two mugs of hot cocoa. One with whipped cream and a dusting of cinnamon, and the other with a healthy splash of Irish cream. 

As he reached up to close the cabinet, he felt familiar arms encircling his midsection. Aziraphale sighed and leaned back into the embrace, covering Crowley’s hands with his own. His smile only grew when he felt the demon rest his head on the crook of his neck. As if air pressure knew when to change according to the mood, it started to lightly rain, pattering on the roof. Actually that one may have been Aziraphale after all, but he could hardly be blamed. In fact, Aziraphale at that moment felt such tightness in his chest, and warmth on his face that it was practically a miracle he stayed in this corporeal plane. 

It wasn’t entirely from himself being a lovesick fool (though that was more than a significant portion of it). The poor angel was also currently feeling the waves of sheer adoration from his wiley companion, and it was all quite a lot for a single entity. He took a deep breath, and turned into the embrace to face Crowley.

“I love you too dearest.” He murmured into soft red hair, taking care not to break the moment. Crowley gave a little noise, but whether it was in acknowledgement or even voluntary wasn’t clear. 

Eventually they reluctantly moved back from one another, Aziraphale insisting their drinks he put effort into making, and not just miracling, would get cold. They sipped the drinks without any rush, or clear purpose for the afternoon. Somewhere on the apartment Queen on vinyl was playing, though Aziraphale was certain he’d never bought that record- or a player, at that. Crowley leaned his back against the angel, taking in the warmth and being uncharacteristically contemplative. After a stretch of quiet that began to unnerve even the ever-patient Aziraphale, he spoke, 

“Aziraphale… when we went to the old nunnery- erm, the paintball range, rather- you said that you felt love? That it felt loved?” A bit confused, Aziraphale nodded. “Well I know you’re an angel and all and that love is your lot, well your old lot’s, thing. So can you always sense love? Like from specific places, or um, people?” Crowley’s voice grew softer, less certain. 

“Well, yes, that’s inherently what I’m built to do. I am and angel after all. Why is this bothering you all of a sudden?” Crowley groaned a bit at that. He turned to face Aziraphale, nearly sloshing his drink everywhere in the process. 

“Because it’s bloody embarrassing it is! I mean how long have you been able to feel me making an absolute fool of myself, sending goddamn heart eyes on the astral level?!” Though his words were genuine, there was no true bite or distress in them. The demon was so ruined for Aziraphale, his oldest and only friend, he didn’t think he was even capable of truly feeling angry at him anymore. Aziraphale, however, floundered for words and seemed truly remorseful. 

“Oh Crowley you shouldn’t worry about things like that, I would never think less of you for it! But if it makes you feel any better, the change was so subtle and muddled with a thousand other changes in myself and you that it never truly stood out to me like a big flashing sign. It just kind of, well, blended with everything else. Just a constant comforting feeling, I suppose I could describe it as.” Crowley seemed comforted by that, putting down his drink to readjust his position, head now on Aziraphales beautifully soft thighs. 

“Good. Don’t like looking a fool, doesn’t go with my image.” He mumbled into the fabric of the pressed trousers. Aziraphale smirked a bit, before leaning down and adding quietly, 

“Though that display in the kitchen I must say felt rather… especially mushy for you, old boy. It was quite cute, actually. Perhaps your image is losing its edge?” Though his tone was innocent, Aziraphale was poking in all the right places to get the response he wanted. Crowley tilted his head to glare menacingly, yellow eyes narrowed, but alite with new devilish purpose. 

He pushed himself up slowly, almost lazily. He didn’t break eye contact with the angel as he moved to straddle him, somehow finding a way to look both uninterested and predatory at the same time. A black-nailed hand traced the creamy skin of Aziraphale’s neck, dipping below the collar, to the pulse point, and lightly around the jawline. He refused to look away, or even blink, throughout the entire effort, just probing Aziraphale with his gaze. Crowley made little effort at much else, the other hand resting just above the angel’s belt and his hips slotted comfortably against Aziraphale own. The air seemed to get thinner, and Aziraphale fleetingly wondered if he had bitten off more than he could chew as his face grew warmer. 

When Crowley finally crossed the distance, grazing his teeth across his neck and leaving a burning trail in his wake, all doubt flew from Aziraphale’s mind. He was most certainly in over his head, and he was going to enjoy every single second of it. 

Crowley moved unhurriedly, sucking and biting at his neck to appreciate the colors that formed from his ministrations. His hands traced up Aziraphale’s chest, and even through the many layers of clothing it sent shivers down his spine. Their hips pressed together, underscoring the lazy pace with slowly building need.

Aziraphale, though enjoying the teasing, grew impatient. He made a little annoyed huff, grasping at the fabric of the fashionable blazer to try and get any kind of reaction. Crowley chuckled, giving a final nip before looking up. They had long since abandoned the habit of using sunglasses when in the company of only one another, so Aziraphale was able to see his beautifully strange eyes. Though there was still a hint of mischief there, the depth of love and sheer adoration in that gaze made him feel breathless all over again. He mentally kicked himself for not asking Crowley to abandon the pretense centuries ago because he felt certain that that same look would have been what greeted him underneath- whether in Mesopotamia, Rome, France, the wild west, alpha centauri- it didn’t matter. Aziraphale felt certain for once in his life that he would never have to be alone again, and it was all thanks to this silly old serpent. 

“Aziraphale? Are you alright?” Crowley asked, concerned by the quiet and the far-off look on his angel’s face. “Am I going too fast again?” He continued, self-consciousness creeping in. Aziraphale blinked a few times, before snapping back to the moment and rushing to answer, 

“No! No, certainly not! I suppose I rather just got caught up in the moment, and you really are so lovely to look at I- I got distracted.” Crowley snorted in amusement, not so subtly basking in the compliment.

“Course I am, part of the job description to be able to tempt in every way.” He waggled his eyebrows for emphasis, “Besides angel, you’re quite the site yourself.” The second sentence was softer, earnest. Aziraphale beamed, practically blinding his companion who had to look away for a moment, never good at handling genuine moments like this one. Instead of attempting any more sentences, which certainly would have been incoherent, Crowley settled with resting his forehead lightly against Aziraphale’s, just breathing in the wonderful scent he always had. It wasn’t exactly sweet or musky, but could only begin to be described as fresh, clear air (a small, traitorously sentimental part of his mind wanted to call it ‘sunshine’, but Crowley wasn’t about to let that thought come anywhere near his lips). Hearing the contented sigh from his companion, the demon suddenly remembered that this hadn’t been his intention at all. Was Aziraphale some kind of reverse tempter himself, able to make every bloody moment into something soft and sweet? This thought ran through Crowley’s mind, and he decided it was time to resume his previous efforts. He did have a reputation to uphold, after all. 

The pretense of patience discarded, Crowley surged forward to finally capture the angel’s lips with his own. It was remarkably chaste initially, given all the utterly indecent plans running through Crowley’s mind in that moment. He sucked on Aziraphale’s soft bottom lip, running his skillful tongue around the edges, before slowly slipping it into the other’s parted lips. Aziraphale gave an appreciative hum, tipping his head up to deepen the kiss. Thankfully they were beings that didn’t necessarily need to breath, though they did it to keep up appearances. Usually. This was not one of those times. 

The two continued kissing- sucking and biting with such fervor that a human couple would’ve been gasping and worn out long ago. But these two had a lot of lost time to make up for- and thankfully that was something they had in abundance. Crowley groaned when Aziraphale did that thing he did with his tongue, grinding down his hips without thinking about it. His trousers were beginning to feel, impossibly, tighter than they were before and his mind felt hazy. 

“D’ya think we should... relocate?” Aziraphale had no sooner heard the words than he was already scooping Crowley into his arms with ease, moving with purpose upstairs. And the demon most certainly did NOT squawk a bit as he was hoisted up, then practically melt in Aziraphale’s strong arms. Though it didn’t happen often, when his angel did choose to display the shocking strength he possessed, it was for important things- like taking his serpent to bed ASAP. And the simple action went straight to Crowley’s already throbbing cock, making it no easier for him to think. 

Luckily he didn’t need to think anymore, as Aziraphale gently laid him on the bed upstairs. The bedroom, previously unused and purely for decoration, had an obnoxious amount of throw pillows and was a nauseating pastel palette, but it was soft and it hardly mattered in the moment because his senses were once again filled with Aziraphale, his scent, visage, wonderful little sounds, Crowley wanted to drown in it all. His lips hot and insistent on Crowley’s, Aziraphale was suddenly aware of just how much clothing was between them, and for once he felt rather miffed about his own fashion tendency to layer up. He shrugged off his jacket, miracling it without a thought to be folded on a chair just a few feet away. Getting the intention, Crowley stopped his hands with a grin that was somehow wicked and pleading at the same time. 

“Allow me.” Aziraphale gave a stuttering nod, not in possession of his full mental faculties at the moment. The majority of his thoughts were somewhere along the lines of ‘wow he’s gorgeous’, ‘oh my god please do that again’, and ‘why in Someone’s name did we not start doing this sooner’. Since their confession and subsequent interrupted- cough- moment, the two had wasted no time picking right back up where they left off. They had spent days at a time either in Aziraphale’s bookshop, or Crowley’s flat, unhurriedly becoming acquainted with one another’s bodies- the things they like, and the things they love. Of course it had not been sex all day every day (it was imperative to stop for meals, or spend a day or two lazily in one another’s arms talking about the infinite future they had together), but neither of them felt like showing restraint after centuries of holding back. 

With hands still shaking a bit, Crowley unbuttoned the waistcoat and the endearingly ridiculous tartan bow tie, discarding them both. Both had kicked their shoes off before getting in bed, not ones to track dirt over the soft sheets. Then with almost reverent care, the dress shirt was unbuttoned, and pulled off along with the undershirt. Crowley made a mental note to make fun of Aziraphale once again for the hassle his outdated dressing habits caused. He himself shrugged off his jacket, shucking his shirt off and tossing it away without a care. Crowley himself was more interested at the moment at the sight of his angel reclining underneath him, lips red and swollen with so much achingly soft skin ready for him to touch.

Not one to deny himself, the demon ran his hands over Aziraphale’s chest, up his shoulders and irresistibly strong arms. He lightly raked his nails trailing down towards Aziraphale’s abdomen, eliciting a bit back whimper. The sound brought a devious smile to Crowley’s face, and stoked his arousal. There were few sights he enjoyed more than his angel lying beneath him completely debauched and needy for him. It was absolutely the definition of sinfully good

The demon finally leaned forward, capturing the angel’s lips once more, savoring the taste of him. He rolled his hips lightly against those beneath him, nearly gasping himself at the electric feeling shooting through him- but he maintained his slow pace, hands continuing to trail over Aziraphale’s soft sides. But apparently the two didn’t have the same plans, evident by the angel miracling their clothes away with a snap, leaving the unexpected intensity of skin on skin. 

“Eager, are we?” Aziraphale could hear the smirk in that tone even without seeing it. He rolled his eyes, grabbing Crowley’s chin and bringing up to meet his eyes.

“Obviously. Now stop being insufferable and fuck me already, won’t you?” Crowley choked, making a sound best described as ‘ngk’, and nodded his head enthusiastically. 

Miracling lube onto his finger, Crowley brought his finger to Aziraphale’s entrance, teasing without pushing in at all. It took incredible effort to ignore his throbbing erection, and judging by the tremble in his angel’s thighs the struggle was mutual. After a moment of anticipation, he pushed gently in- up to one knuckle, then slowly all the way. The whimper that elicited made it all the more difficult to not forgo the preparation entirely, but Crowley persisted. The two had tried miracling ready before, but it was an entirely invasive and unpleasant feeling. The two had tried a lot of things like that in the past few weeks since bearing their feelings to one another, and unsurprisingly the bookshop had remained closed due to ‘personal circumstances’ for several days at a time. 

A second finger made its way in, then a third, carefully twisting and scissoring in the way that always made Aziraphale keen with pleasure. His cock now lay against his own stomach, painfully untouched and leaking. But right now the angel’s entire focus was on the demon, who had removed his fingers and adjusted his stance to get off Aziraphale. The complete lack of contact and pressure was disappointing, but the expectation of something entirely better prevented any real complaint. 

Wordlessly, and without reservation, Crowley gripped one of Aziraphale’s legs and pushed it up to his chest. He lightly traced their lips together, before pressing only a bit into him. Not hearing any issues, Crowley moved further, slowly filling him until there was nowhere left to go. Aziraphale gasped at the sensation, then moaned as he finally felt filled. Crowley himself hovered above him, quietly hissing swears at the unbearably tight, heady feeling. The angel was drunk on the sheer intimacy and closeness this provided, but was still able to admire the sight above him. 

Crowley’s usually artfully messy hair was truly wild, and his eyes reflected the same controlled ferocity as they bore down into him. His body was thin but strong, and so tantalizing in his every curving movement. 

“Fuck...I-I’m gonna move now.” Aziraphale was only able to nod back, one hand clutching the sheets and the other moving to Crowley’s flaming hair. They started a slow but steady rhythm, rocking into one another in a moment that felt thick, suspended in time. Gasps and moans punctuated the air, as both clung to one another. Hands bruised, lips crashed into one another, and all the while the heat in their groins became unbearable. 

“More!” Aziraphale choked out, only resisting fisting his own cock by a tiny thread of self-control. Crowley complied, tilting the angel’s hips and snapping forward faster to reach that place that made Aziraphale’s vision go white for a brief moment in time, crying out and throwing his head back. Ever one to please, Crowley continued hitting that angle, returning his mouth to Aziraphale’s neck to suck and bite, revelling in the taste of him. 

“I’m, I- ah, yes - not going to-” Aziraphale stuttered out, and Crowley understood. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer either. Taking a bruising grip off his hip, Crowley reached and fisted the angel’s cock with brutal tugs. The pace at this point had long passed slow and passionate, and was bordering on savage as the two devolved into nothing but sensation. Aziraphale, overcome by the dual sensations, gave into his orgasm first with a piercing moan. The rhythmic clenching pushed Crowley over the edge not long after, filling the inside of his lover even more as he rode the feeling with a few more shallow thrusts. 

Crowley slowly pulled out, biting back a whimper at the oversensitive feeling. He collapsed on the angel in exhaustion. Aziraphale miracled away the mess with a languid wave of his hand, pulling his demon to rest on his chest. The two simply let their breathing return to normal, and enjoyed the intoxicating closeness of the moment. Crowley nuzzled (though he would reject that word ever being applied to him) into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, smiling softly into the skin. 

Aziraphale really wasn’t one for sleep usually, but special circumstances did warrant it from time to time. With a murmured exchange of ‘I love you’s’, he pulled the blankets over his beloved- already slipping into sleep with the ease of a professional. He closed his eyes happily, indulging in this moment of stillness. Better get some rest now, since this is what the next few days were likely going to look like. Aziraphale sincerely hoped he had changed the sign over to closed earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all can have a little smut... as a treat...


	9. To the world, to our home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tooth-rottingly fluffy epilogue.

7 years later...

“Angel!” 

Aziraphale jerked his head up, nearly spilling the tea placed all over the haphazardly organized books. Grimacing, he dabbed the few drops that had escaped away, and gave an exasperated sigh. 

“What is it, dear? And why the shouting?” He wrinkled his nose at the blurring of ink on one of the texts that hadn’t been lucky. He really needed to start using covered mugs when working. 

Even before the question was finished, the door to his study was wrenched open. Crowley didn’t answer, opting instead to grin like a maniac and shove an envelope under Aziraphale’s nose. It had already been opened, hence the obvious excitement. He took it and saw a familiar address on the front- from a particularly notable household in Tadfield. Thoroughly intrigued, he took the letter out from the abused envelope. They hadn’t been in frequent contact with Adam and his friends in a few years- really since they entered high school. It wasn’t like they could blame them, how would you explain to your peers a friendship with two middle aged men without them getting the wrong idea?

After scanning the page, Aziraphale’s face lit up in a smile. He looked up to meet Crowley’s eyes, and gave a little squeal of delight. 

“A graduation celebration! How lovely, and how kind of them to invite us to the party! Oh, it’s been ages since we’ve seen the kids….” The angel reflected with a fond smile. They had all grown up to be wonderful, if a bit rowdier as teens. Pepper was every bit the willful and fiery girl she was as a child, but no longer felt the need to fight everyone to prove herself. Brian found his nature fit in quite well with the sweat and mud of football. Wensleydale’s bookish tendencies flourished even as he grew to appreciate things outside of his studies. And of course Adam, the antichrist himself, continued to be charming and inspiring to a fault. It seems his seat as the school government’s president came quite naturally, and much to the pleasure of his guardian angel and demon, he made a most impartial president- nothing too good, nothing too bad, and so very human. 

As these thoughts tumbled through Aziraphale’s mind, he felt his eyes mist over. It assured some part of him that had been holding on to worry for these past few years that they grew up well. Even after everything that happened, after heaven and hell quite literally conspired to corrupt the world, it kept on spinning. Humans kept on going like nothing happened, and Aziraphale thought that was so lovably human of them. 

“Angel? Zira? Are you ok?” Crowley’s voice cut through his musings, bringing him back to reality. It was light, but couldn’t hide the undercurrent of concern. Aziraphale brushed the unfallen tears away before lurching forward to crush Crowley into a hug. The demon gave a grunt, which turned into what could only be described as an undignified squeak as Aziraphale leaned back to pick his feet off the ground and spin him around. 

“I’m perfect, love. Truly.” He reluctantly released Crowley from the crushing hug, giving a breathless laugh. Grumbling petulantly, Crowley stepped towards Aziraphale once again to wrap his arms around him. Aziraphale rested his head against his lover’s shoulder, noting the familiar scent of leather, earthy soil, and something else that he could never place. Whatever it was it was lovely, and always made the angel feel like he was finally home. 

“It’s really over, and we really get to live like this… those kids get to grow up, have families, laugh and cry and rage and live… And so do we. It’s something I didn’t even know I wanted until the last few decades, but dearheart I’d sooner cut my wings off than live without this ever again. This place… this planet, is our home. You’re my home, and this just reminded me of that. I love you more than there are stars in the sky, and I just wanted to tell you that.” Aziraphale quietly tried to explain his feelings, his face still against Crowley’s skin. He nosed playfully at his collarbone, but soon became confused when there was no response. 

“Dear?”

“Crowley?”

Pulling back to look at the other man (-shaped being), Aziraphale was startled to be greeted by heavily red-tinted sunglasses. Pursing his lips, the angel reached forward to gently remove them. Crowley tensed, but didn’t move to stop him. 

His snake-like eyes were red and watery, and already a few tears had escaped to make a mad dash down his cheeks. Crowley made no sounds, but didn’t turn away either. Aziraphale wasn’t surprised, but felt moved all the same. 

“Oh dearheart, none of that hiding nonsense with me. You know better.” He admonished tenderly, brushing the demon’s tears with his own soft hands. He caught Crowley’s face in his hands, and stood a bit taller to pepper light kisses across the tear-streaked skin. This continued for a few unhurried moments, before Crowley brought a hand up to cradle his jaw- pushing him away gently. He was met with a glare, which lacked any true fire.

“You- you can’t just say things like that!! People do not talk like that, and who gave you the right to-to be so… so- so sweet!?” The demon flushed as he stammered his protests, unable to completely stave off a fond smile which mingled oddly with his scowl. Aziraphale giggled, remarking unconsciously how that expression looked quite handsome on Crowley’s face. He then put on a sterner mask, and replied,

“Anthony J. Crowley I most certainly can and do speak like that, and until- and you better believe after- you can accept and believe my words I most certainly will not be stopping-”

His rant was cut off when he was yanked forward for a toe-curling kiss, all thoughts of argument disappearing with any sense of balance, or decorum. Aziraphale moved one hand around Crowley’s slender waist, tucking him closer against himself, and the other to gently tangle into red locks. He’d been growing it out lately, and Aziraphale was far from opposed to it. 

The kiss was slow and searing. Long sweeps of tongue and deep hums of enjoyment, hands trailing over far too many layers of cloth. The two quite lost track of time, content to bask in each other’s attention until time ran out. It wasn’t until the sound of a car horn outside startled them apart that the moment ended. 

“Bugger all.” Crowley growled in annoyed, shooting daggers (all metaphorical this time, thankfully) at the source of the disruption. Aziraphale straightened his jacket, declared his hair a lost cause, and gave a lingering soft look towards the love of his life as he hissed in the general direction of the street. Chuckling, the angel moved to go close up his shop officially for the day. Before he could leave however, Crowley caught his wrist. 

“I love you too. And all that flowery stuff about the stars, too.” Though the words were mumbled, Aziraphale couldn’t help but let another beaming grin spread across his face. He turned Crowley’s hand over so he held it in his own, and placed a kiss to the back of it. 

“I think we deserve a treat. What do you think, dearest? Sushi, crêpes suzette, roast duck…?” Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, prompting a response. It was Crowley’s turn to chuckle at the behavior of his beloved, before giving a suggestive smirk. 

“How about we have a bit of everything?”

And so they did, ordering from dozens of places that night and completely forgetting to put away the leftovers before diving into the night’s final course. And so they would for many, many years to come. 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! First long work I've ever published, and even if I was shit at uploading regularly I'm beyond glad I tried this out. Hope it was as enjoyable for you all as it was for me!


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